


Out of Breath

by oleanderedits



Series: A Long Night's Ride [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead (Video Games), The Walking Dead - All Media Types
Genre: AU (Canon Divergence), Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hand holding intimacy, M/M, Pre-Slash, Slow Burn Romance, darlenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 20:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5062090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oleanderedits/pseuds/oleanderedits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After leaving the Atlanta group, Glenn and Daryl are on their way to the coast when they make an overnight stop in Macon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Six of One

“Place don't look like it was left that recently,” Daryl said, kicking at a piece of wood that laid real close to a child's drawing. The drawing was on plywood and looked like it was scrap from one of the rooms thereabouts.

“Yeah, but it looks pretty beat up,” Glenn answered as he leaned over the open engine of the RV. “There are a lot more bullet holes in the walls than when I left.”

Daryl nodded, moving to the reinforced wall in question to check it out. They'd had to move the two trash bins acting as the 'gates' to the parking lot. It wasn't a terrible affair, would keep walkers out no problem. But walkers weren't the only danger. He fingered one of the bullet holes, “How many were there when you left?”

“None,” Glenn leaned back and sighed, pulling his hat off his head to scratch at his hairline. He took another glance around, “There's still a lot of stuff here, they'll probably come back if they only left recently. Might be out on a run.”

“Could be,” Daryl agreed. But they both knew that if people were out on a run, it didn't make sense for _all_ of them to go. Unless there wasn't more than two of them left. He squinted up at the sun, “Not much daylight left. Maybe an hour. Maybe two.”

He wasn't advocating they leave, but he also wasn't advocating they stay. The two of them had made decent time getting to Macon. They could afford to stay a night. Or they could go. There was still enough gas in the tank to get another hundred miles before nightfall if they left. Daryl was going to leave it up to Glenn.

Kid was smart. Seemed to always have a plan even when he had to come up with it on the fly. He was a lot like Merle that way. Knowing what he wanted to do and doing it. A leader. At least once they'd gotten on the road and away from the quarry group, anyway. Three days out and Daryl was content to do the driving while Glenn did the guiding.

“If we wait,” Glenn mused, moving around the RV to check out the inside. Daryl switched his own path around the open area to follow so he could still hear the kid. “We'd have to spend the night.”

“And if they're not back by dark?” he asked, doing a quick door check on a couple rooms that were close by.

Glenn pulled his head out of the RV and shrugged, “We leave at first light. No point in staying longer than that. If they left not that long ago and left in a hurry...” He waved one hand around as he headed for the bike, “and if they're not back by dark? I doubt they'll be back tomorrow. Or any day. Something had to scare them off and it's not worth sticking around to find out what on the off chance they return in the next couple days. Even if they did come back, it would probably only be to get what little supplies are left here.”

The kid popped the kickstand up and pushed the bike toward the line of rooms. He nodded at the doors, “Any of them open?”

Daryl tapped one, then pulled the door open cautiously. If the place had been used as long term shelter, then it wasn't likely to have walkers inside. But the two of them were careful. Had to be. Daryl turned fast, crossbow ready to fire, as he moved in front of the open doorway. The flashlight he carried came up and on to sweep across the room.

The place hadn't been stripped bare, but only because there'd be no point. It was furnished and dusty. Like someone had looked through it weeks ago and then left it alone. Which meant it was perfect for them. Daryl still did a quick recon into the bathroom for any lurkers and even kicked a bit at the underside of the bed to make sure nothing was hiding there. It was empty, though.

At his signal, Glenn brought the bike inside and they got it turned around so they could ride it out in the morning. Once they shut the door for the night the place would look as empty as when they'd found it. Which meant that any less-than-friendly groups coming by wouldn't automatically know they were there. And that would give them time to arm themselves or run, whichever seemed the better play.

“Gonna check the other rooms,” Daryl grunted as Glenn shrugged his backpack off his shoulders and started going through it for the candle stumps (tea lights as the kid had corrected him) they'd found the day before. They were better than wasting juice on flashlights if they could. Glenn just nodded and shut the door behind him. Daryl waited until he heard the clatter of the chain before he moved off, though. He was glad he hadn't had to remind Glenn of that precaution.

Not that he really thought he'd have to. Glenn had been the one to suggest it after their first encounter with another group. They had decided that any breaks or night stops would be best done in motels off the highway if they could find ones easy to get into. But other survivor groups had the same idea.

On the second night, putting the chain in the door and hastily hiding themselves in the bathroom with the bike tipped over on its side next to the bed had proved safer than locking themselves in. The other group had been more than happy to kick in the doors of the locked rooms. But the ones with the chains on them, they just did a quick glance of what they could see. If nothing looked more out of place than the bed being disturbed, they left it alone and moved on. They didn't question the chains. There were enough windows blown out of the bathrooms that it seemed 'obvious' how the previous occupants had gotten out, assuming they weren't still up and walking around, dead or not.

Daryl made his way between the rooms, opening up the ones that he could and doing a quick sweep. Most of them were as dusty and unused as the rest. But a couple were clearly in heavy and regular use. They were probably the ones Glenn's friends had been staying in. There were candles and books. One of them had some paper and more crayons. The little girl's room, then. Or the boy's. Glenn had said there were two kids.

When he got back to their room, he gave a quick knock and stood at the window where his travel partner could see him if he peeked out. The door was opened in short order and Daryl closed it once he was inside. The door was once again chained. None of the candles were lit yet since there was still plenty of light coming in through the curtains. The second set would be pulled closed after dark and one of the tea lights set up in the bathroom to provide any light they needed for the night. Otherwise the inside curtains would remain open. It wouldn't be enough to see by inside, but it would let them keep watch.

Daryl was pretty pleased to see that Glenn had his guns out on the bed and had obviously been taking them apart and putting them back together. Learning them as best he could without actually wasting bullets on target practice. If they could find a couple more boxes of ammo somewhere along the way, then maybe they could also take a few days to give him that practice. Better than having to learn in the field.

“What are you smiling about?” Glenn asked him and Daryl realized he'd been staring a bit. The kid looked himself over, “It can't be the mustard stains. They've been there since yesterday.”

“Maybe it is,” Daryl answered, tossing himself down on the bed hard enough to bounce. He snickered as the gun parts scattered just a bit and Glenn scrambled to grab them.

Once the he'd made sure the parts were all accounted for, he rolled his eyes at Daryl, “You were just as happy about the mustard as I was. Your shirt's just as dirty.”

“Yeah, but I can't see my shirt 'less I look down,” he answered, tongue sticking out the side of his mouth just a little. “An' I got no reason to do that.”

Glenn snorted and shook his head. He went back to the guns and Daryl's attention went to the window. He didn't want to make a habit of stopping so soon before dark, but he couldn't deny that it was nice to have a couple of hours while the sun was out that they weren't riding or scrounging through gas stations for mustard and ketchup packs and whatever other food was still there. Only three days on the road and it already felt like way too long. Too exhausting.

Really, what they needed was for Daryl to go out hunting and bag them a rabbit or two for the road. So they didn't have to struggle for a few days. But that also meant putting down roots before they got to the coast and Daryl didn't really want to do that, either.

He'd never been as far south as the two of them already were. His whole life he'd lived in the mountains of north Georgia, following Merle around. Or his father. Or his uncle. Hunting and making a general nuisance out of the Dixon name. At any time, he could have just jumped in the truck and took it for a weekend trip down to Savannah and gotten himself a look at the beach. But he never did. Because it didn't really seem like an option before.

Now it was.

And it was only because Glenn had made it so. When he'd told the others he and Glenn were leaving he hadn't actually thought about where they were going to go once they got to Macon. That was the place Glenn had mentioned when they'd talked about leaving. So when Glenn said they were going to see the ocean since Daryl had never seen it, he'd been surprised. More than surprised. He'd gone with it, though, hadn't turned around or let anyone know he was surprised. Because, to the rest of the group, it made it look and sound like the two of them had come to the decision together. Harder to convince one of them not to leave if they were a united front.

But hell if he wasn't surprised Glenn even remembered he'd said that when they were being held by the Vatos. It was such a throwaway thing. Barely worth a mention in the middle of a three-hour conversation about the kind of 'outdoorsy shit' (Glenn's words) Daryl was familiar with. Kid had practically gone through a list like he was going through the boy scout handbook and crossing off badges.

But it was a nice surprise. One that made Daryl feel a bit more optimistic about the future. And about following Glenn's lead.

His eyes drifted to Glenn as the sun disappeared past the trees and the ambient light started to fade. It would be gone soon and then they'd have to close the curtains to set up the candle. Then they'd need to get ready for watch shifts.

Daryl figured that's why he was looking to Glenn when he did. To study him while the light was still good and figure out if it would be better for him to take first shift or not. His back was to Daryl, but it was obvious the kid was already putting the guns back in order. Setting one on the dresser while the other went in the front pocket of his backpack. After another moment of bending over, he started to pull off his shirt.

Glenn was a lot freer with stripping down in front of Daryl than Daryl was with him. And he was a lot more muscled than Daryl had first thought, too. His shoulders weren't particularly broad, but they looked it once his shirt was off and was no longer hiding the firm lines that defined his torso so clearly. He had a few scars of his own, nothing like Daryl's, but a few...

“Where'd you get that one on your side,” he asked softly.

Glenn turned around, eyes wide, looking confused. He glanced down at himself and had to twist a bit to see the one Daryl was referring to. When he looked back up, he was blinking fast, like he was surprised Daryl had even seen it, faint as it was. “Uh... bike accident. When I was twelve? I think? Maybe?”

Daryl tilted his head, brows raised, inviting Glenn to keep going.

“Yeah, twelve. Maybe eleven. But not thirteen,” he said and reached around to try and touch another one much higher up, near his shoulder, “This one was from when I was thirteen.”

“So what happened?” Daryl murmured, trying to get Glenn to keep talking and not leave it at that. Glenn liked to talk anyway. So it shouldn't be that difficult.

“I got pushed against a pile of wood by some kids that liked to bully me,” he shrugged, going just a little quiet before he continued. “People a lot like your brother, actually. They didn't call me chink, but they did make fun of me for being Asian. You know, for being 'smart'. I got caught after school on the way home from the bus stop. There was some construction going on. Someone in the neighborhood was renovating I think. Maybe adding a garage? I don't remember. But I remember the woodpile near the sidewalk. And I remember the nail going in. I think I must have screamed like I was dying because the guys were gone so fast and they didn't mess with me for a month, they were so scared I was going to tell on them and get them in trouble.”

“You didn't, though?”

Glenn shook his head, bending over to pull on a clean(er) shirt, “No. That pretty much taught me to just stand quietly and take whatever they were going to throw at me if anyone got physical. If all they did was talk, I was pretty safe talking back, but if they so much as nudged me I just shut up.”

Daryl titled his head the other way and thought about that. He'd noticed that, actually. How Glenn would clam up around his brother. He laughed in spite of himself, “I wondered why you were always mouthier to me than you were ta Merle.”

“Merle scared me,” Glenn said, but he was smiling. A little ruefully perhaps, but a smile none the less. “You used to scare me, too. Nothing like him, just... you know, you're scary when you want to be.”

“That's the point,” he laughed again, this time it came more easily. “Was tryin' to keep all ya'll away from us. You lot got nosy when you got comfortable with people. The more uncomfortable and scared you were, the less you'd poke around in what didn't concern you.”

Glenn laid himself down next to Daryl, on his stomach so he could tuck his arms under the pillow. He smiled up at him and Daryl ended up looking away, back toward the window. He started to bite at his thumb as the conversation turned to a comfortable silence.

Fingers touched his elbow and started the slow crawl up his arm same as they had the last couple nights. It was starting to become a ritual. Like Glenn couldn't find his way to sleep until he'd managed to get his hand tangled up in Daryl's. Daryl had been letting him, too. Letting him pull his hand down to the mattress and eventually, when Glenn was long since asleep, tuck it up under his chin like some damn security blanket.

Daryl didn't let him do that this time, though. Well, not the pulling his arm down bit. Glenn still got his fingers up and tangled in with Daryl's. Still got it so their palms were pressing lightly against each other. But Daryl kept his hand up near his mouth. Chewing away at his thumb while the back of Glenn's hand brushed against his chin every so often. The kid was out within minutes, same as he usually was.

He didn't exactly know why he did that. Only that he was curious about the reaction he'd get if he didn't let Glenn have full control of where his hand got to be. Daryl had half-expected him to fight it, to tug and pull and maybe even whine a little. Insist somehow that Daryl should drop his hand because it'd be more comfortable. Make it so Daryl had a reason to shake him off.

But he didn't. He just took what Daryl allowed him to take and was content with it. If the soft snores coming from his side of the bed were any indication.

Daryl kept their hands where they were until the sun disappeared enough that night was coming too fast. After dark hit in full, he dropped their hands to his lap and idly worried his thumb over Glenn's skin. His eyes didn't leave the window, but his thoughts were elsewhere. On the kid and on himself and on whatever the hell it was they were doing.

A week before he'd told Glenn that he didn't even like him much. And it'd been true. Now he was holding his goddamn hand like they'd been friends for years and could get away with it because everyone knew they were as thick as thieves. Like brothers. Like blood.

The kind of friend he'd never really had, but always wanted because all he did have was Merle. When Merle wasn't in juvie or the army or the county lock up. Which wasn't often. With the way their daddy was, Daryl never got a chance to be close to anyone. He wasn't even that close to Merle, all things considered.

But he was close to Glenn. Sort of. Close enough that Glenn hadn't hesitated to climb on his bike and ride off with him. Even if it was sooner than they'd agreed on. Glenn had been there for him.

“So uh...” Daryl murmured into the empty silence of the night a couple hours later, knowing that Glenn was too asleep to hear him. “Just wanted to say thanks, you know? For being my first real friend. It's... it's kinda nice.”

Glenn didn't respond of course. But Daryl let his hand get tugged out of his lap and curled up under the kid's chin. Let himself be Glenn's security blanket for the duration of his watch.

He snorted, “But if you tell anyone I said that, I'll kill you.”

Glenn's sleep remained undisturbed until Daryl woke him for his shift.

 


	2. Half Dozen of the Other

Before the outbreak Glenn would have spent nearly an hour pulling himself out of bed and shaking the sleep off. He would set his alarm four times, fifteen minutes apart. The first to get him just groggy enough that when the second went off he'd be able to sit up before laying back down and putting a pillow over his face. The third would remind him to toss the pillow aside and stretch his arms, kick the blanket off enough that the cooler air in the apartment would make him uncomfortable. The fourth would be the one he finally climbed out of bed for, followed by a long yawning walk to the bathroom to actually start his day.

Back at the quarry camp he'd gotten his morning ritual down to a half-hour when he had the luxury to spend that long waking up. Fifteen when he didn't. No alarms were around to help him wake up, but the sound of people stomping around and the light of the sun filtering through his tent were a decent enough substitute.

The last three nights on the road with Daryl he'd learned to wake up as soon as Daryl shook him up for his watch shift. He was still groggy, but he didn't take his time. The reaction he'd gotten from his friend the first night on the road when he'd murmured 'five more minutes' had beat the lesson into his head right quick. Daryl had very happily woken him up to a crossbow in the face and a hand muffling his mouth.

When he got up, all he did was turn himself over so he could sit with his back to the headboard. He didn't trade spots with Daryl, who laid himself down so his front was curled in toward Glenn. After setting his crossbow on the floor, of course. He didn't like sleeping with his back to him. Which puzzled Glenn more than a little. He'd honestly thought that Daryl would be more prone to sleeping so he could dangle one arm over the side of the bed so he could grab his weapon without turning over.

Glenn grabbed his gun from the side table and brought one knee up, propped his right arm on it with the gun loose in his grip. He reached out and took Daryl's hand again, gave it a squeeze, then let it go. He fully expected Daryl to pull it back to himself and curl up tightly into a ball same as he had been the last couple nights. But Daryl surprised him: he didn't pull his hand away.

He let it lay there as his breathing evened out and he drifted swiftly into sleep. Daryl was well practiced at that whole waking up on a moment's notice thing. To the point that he could also pick and choose when to let his body shut down. And he'd just done that, this time leaving his hand where Glenn had pulled it to.

Glenn reached back out and tentatively curled his fingers into Daryl's palm. He didn't entwine their fingers just yet. He wasn't sure if that was going to be allowed. If leaving his hand out was simply a show of trust in the only way Daryl knew how and trying for anything more would cause him to close up again.

He wasn't unobservant. He wasn't blind, either. He knew Daryl had trouble reaching out to others, both figuratively and physically. The man was practically a walking stereotype some days. More so with Merle around. But it was obvious, after basically a week in his company, that Daryl used that to keep people at arm’s length.

Glenn let his fingers rest in Daryl's palm as he shook himself out of the last of his sleep and focused on watching the window. He let his nails scratch lightly at the skin there in a manner that must have tickled because Daryl's hand closed up suddenly. Both stopping the movement and trapping his pinky and thumb. The man didn't wake up, but it took a while for his hand to relax again, fingers flexing out as he sighed in his sleep.

Glenn didn't take advantage of the action for the rest of the night. He just let his hand lay there, over Daryl's. Somewhere close to holding it, but not quite. It was nice. Not as nice as the stubble on Daryl's chin had been when it scratched his knuckles at the start of the night. But still nice.

He smiled at the memory. It hadn't been that long ago, but it already felt like it'd been too long. It was probably as close to a kiss as Glenn would ever get from the other man. And he knew it was stupid of him to be thinking like that in the first place.

It had been so intimate, though. At least from his end. Daryl most likely hadn't thought of it that way. As far as Glenn knew, the other man had just wanted the luxury of biting his thumb without having to switch hands and give up his grip on his crossbow.

Morning came slowly and Glenn was thankful for that. Sometimes five hours could feel too short. Of course, sometimes it could feel too long, but that was usually when walkers were around and everything felt like it took too long to do. No, that night, the slow meander of time was a nice reprieve. It gave him time to think things over. And not just about how good looking Daryl was when his face relaxed and the worry lines disappeared.

Since it didn't seem like Lee and Clementine and the others would be back, they'd be leaving before dawn so they were on the road before the sun was up. Not enough time in the dark to worry about walkers. Just enough that they wouldn't waste the daylight hours. They'd be getting shorter and shorter in the next few weeks and if the two of them were going to get south to Key West before winter really hit, they needed all the hours they could get. There was no telling what the roads were going to be like. Only that what should have been a two-day trip (at most) would likely take a week. If they were lucky.

Glenn didn't count on them being lucky.

He also didn't count on Daryl wanting to take the short route. He was going to assume that once they hit the coast Daryl would want to stay near it and take a leisurely trip down. So long as the walker herds allowed for that. And whatever other survivors were out there.

When Glenn finally woke Daryl up for the day the first words out of his mouth were, “We're going to need a map.”

Daryl rolled himself off the bed, dropping his arm down to grab his crossbow as he scratched at his stomach. He sniffed loudly and nodded, “Okay.”

“There's a couple bookstores in town I know about,” Glenn said as he did a sweep through the room for the few items he'd pulled out of his backpack the night before. They were put up quickly and the backpack slung over his shoulders.

“So what's the problem?” Daryl asked as the crossbow went over his shoulder and he got his hands on the bike.

Glenn opened the door, doing a quick visual check for walkers past the fence, “The last time I was further inside town I almost died after being trapped in a drug store. It's pretty much walker central.”

Daryl gave him a quick nod and they rolled the bike out of the room. After Glenn shut the door behind them and moved off to get the dumpster-door open, he said, “You used to live out here.”

“Yeah,” Glenn agreed. “I did.”

“Your place in walker central?”

Glenn stopped and looked at him, surprised at the question. He hadn't thought about his place – the crappy apartment was, well crappy – since the start of everything. It wasn't in a great part of town, but it also wasn't in a very urban area either. Most people hadn't stuck around there when things went crazy and it had gotten deserted fast. It might be a good place to use as a base of operations for a few days while they did runs. A place to store the bike if nothing else.

“No,” he grinned at Daryl. “We could camp there for a day or two. I still have my keys.”

Daryl grinned back, looking mighty pleased with himself. Glenn liked that look on him. There was a lot more confidence in him than he was used to seeing.

“Hey, hold on a second,” Glenn said before Daryl could start pulling the dumpster-door closed. “I want to leave a note. In case they come back.”

Daryl's smile turned into a frown, “What if another group finds it?”

“Don't worry, I won't say where we'll be in town,” he answered, pulling his hat off and fiddling with it before he walked off. “I just want to let them know I was here. Still alive.”

Daryl gave him a slow nod and he hurried across the lot to the RV. There were crayons on the ground, near the drawing, so he grabbed one of those before ducking inside the vehicle. He rifled through the cabinets quickly, settling on using the roll of wax paper still tucked away on one of the high shelves.

Glenn left two notes. Both were hastily scrawled out and one had less of a chance of finding it's owner than the other, but if he was going to leave one, he might as well leave the other. The first was addressed to Clementine and it was rolled up and put in the hole at the back of his hat. Just a short hello and that he'd passed through while they were out. That he was heading for the coast and then south. And that she could keep his hat.

The second note he asked Clementine to leave for his friend in a post-script on hers. That one was to Merle. If the man somehow found his way south to Macon, he wanted there to be something to guide him back to his brother. He knew it was a really, really, _really_ long shot, but it didn't hurt anything to leave it.

Once that was done and the hat and the notes were left inside the engine of the RV where they were sure to be spotted if anyone took a look inside, Glenn helped Daryl close up the doors to the lot. Then he climbed on behind his friend and they took off into the city.

…

Glenn's old place didn't look all that changed from when he'd last seen it. He'd basically cut and run, packed his backpack and stuffed it in his car before heading into the center of town. He'd gotten caught there, in the drug store, with the others just days after everything went to shit. And damn if it didn't all go down the toilet fast.

The apartment was little more than a closet with a toilet and a kitchenette in the middle of a single story building that liked to pretend it had class. All the front doors faced out toward the parking lot and all the back doors, tiny little sliders attached to tiny little concrete patios, faced inward to a courtyard that doubled as a picnic area. It served no other purpose but from how the landscaping (and that was a generous descriptor) had been done, it had, at one time far in the past, held a small pool. One long since filled in with dirt to avoid the cost of maintaining it.

The door was still locked when they got to it and the noise of the bike drew only three walkers from the surrounding area, so it seemed safe enough as camping spots went. Daryl took out the geeks and Glenn had to dig his house keys out of the bottom of his backpack. It was a pretty surreal experience, all in all. Going 'home' after two months away while his best friend killed zombies behind him.

“Just a normal Tuesday at the end of the world,” He laughed to himself.

Glenn walked the bike inside, not bothering with his flashlight since there was enough sunlight coming through the sliding glass door. It was, thankfully, not broken. Which likely meant no scavengers had been through the complex yet. And if that were the case, then he and Daryl could work their way through it for supplies with a decent chance of finding more than scraps.

Daryl followed him inside and shut the door. Locked it again. Then he grunted, “Nice digs.”

Glenn shot him an incredulous look, certain the man was making a joke at his expense. But from the expression on Daryl's face, he was being sincere. And he was also feeling offended at how Glenn was looking at him. He opened his mouth and Glenn cut him off with a bright smile, “Thanks.”

That caught Daryl off guard. Glenn's grin widened, “That's the first time anyone's said that and meant it. The few people that did come over. I didn't have a lot of visitors.”

Daryl looked down at his feet for second, shrugging a single shoulder, “A place like this, all to yourself, it's a lot better than most of the places my family ever owned. Not as much to the yard, though.”

“Couldn't afford a place with a yard,” Glenn said back, moving to the slider and looking out at it. “Though I guess I could claim it all as mine. Now. No one else is around to.”

He snorted, then threw his head back in a real belly laugh, “You know, I never really thought about it before, but we could pretty much claim any place we wanted as ours. We could find one of those castles or really expensive multi-million dollar mansions and take them. We could literally live in a palace.”

Daryl laughed with him, shaking his head as he poked around in the kitchen area, “If we find one with a drawbridge and a moat we might even be able to protect it.”

“We don't need to protect the whole thing,” Glenn said, thoughts going back to a few of his old video games. The shooters, mostly. Portal. “Just a few rooms. Trap the rest. Make it a maze of death for anyone and anything that tries to get to us.”

“A maze of death?” Daryl's voice took on that 'you fucking with me' tone as he moved on from the kitchen to the bedroom, flashlight out to get a good look around.

“I will have you know, I have watched every Home Alone movie and almost every Jackie Chan movie,” Glenn answered, puffing his chest up like it was something to be truly proud of. “I know how to trap a house.”

Daryl snorted, “Whatever you say.”

Glenn grinned at him and pulled the back door open, then grabbed one of the four baseball bats still hung on the walls. The one signed by Chipper Jones and once the pride of his very small collection. “None of the sliders are broken in. There might be walkers in a few of the other apartments, but it doesn't look like this place has been gone through yet. We can look for the bookstores tomorrow. Today, I think we should clear this place out.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Daryl agreed, hefting his crossbow and gesturing for Glenn to lead the way. “Your city, your call.”

It was nice having someone watching his back that trusted him. Looked to him to lead the way. Really nice. Made him feel less like a kid that got on everyone's nerves despite all the runs he did and more like he was someone worth respecting. He'd never really gotten that before. Not during the time they'd been at the quarry and not in the life he'd had prior to the outbreak. No one had really respected him before.

“So hey,” he stopped outside the glass slider of his old neighbor's house, the one that fed stray cats, and knocked on it. “I wanted to say thanks.”

Daryl cocked an eyebrow at him, leveling his crossbow at the door as the walker that used to be a very old and very lonely man came stumbling into the glass.

“For sticking with me. And being my friend,” Glenn smiled, then hefted his bat and swung at the glass like he was going for a home run.


End file.
